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Acorner of Rory’s mouth lifted in a knowing smile. He checked the time on his phone while Dad wrapped up a conference call. The older man’s steps increased, and his words clipped as he paced a well-trod path behind his executive office desk.
Rory’s spacious suite adjoined Dad’s, but Rory preferred his Peeps’ office. Despite the small space, he treasured the breathing room. Far less chance of being pulled into discussions that didn’t concern him. The role of Dad’s glorified errand boy remained a bothersome image. One he’d worked hard to overcome. His last name might be Spence, but he craved an identity apart from his legendary father.
The office reflected Dad’s taste—well-crafted wood furnishings and comfortable seating. Nothing ultra-expensive. Dad never wanted to forget his humble beginnings. One issue they agreed on.
“Confounded phone meetings. Those calls suck the life right out of flexible thinking and creativity. Everybody’s focused on saying their two cents. About what it’s worth too.” Dad’s bright blue eyes sparked.
Rory steepled his fingers on his lips as his father plopped down across from him in a rawhide-colored suede chair. He thunked his phone on the coffee table. “Let the thing rest so I can think.” He stood with the energy of a much younger man, strode to his desk, and pushed the intercom button. “Becca? Coffee, please.”
Moments later, a fortyish rail-thin blonde wearing a don’t-mess-with-me suit and fashionable high heels entered the room with a coffee tray. She set it on the coffee table between the two men and turned to leave.
“How’re you today, Becca? Is Dad treating you right?” Rory grinned, anticipating her response.
“Rory, you been askin’ the same thing for years, and the answer ain’t never gonna change. The man’s an absolute tyrant. Don’t know why I put up with him.” She stalked from the room, nose in the air. Rory’s smile broadened.
Dad chuckled, totally unperturbed. “Becca needs a raise. She’s been here so long she knows what I’m going to say half the time.”
“Yeah, she’s loyal to the core—and you can be a tyrant.” Rory considered any long-term relationship a blessing. Well, the positive ones, anyway. What if a woman embraced him as he was? His dream of having a family, a loving wife, and a passel of kids, had fallen silent in the loud, ever-present noise of his disability. He’d come to accept his limitations. On good days, he gave thanks for the painful journey that had molded him into a better man. Most women never made it that far.
Dad sipped his coffee. “Tell me about High Meadows.” The new subdivision they’d been developing the last couple of months had taken off. Scads of calls were flowing in from young families who wanted to settle in Valiant’s newest upscale neighborhood. When the idea first formed, Rory had contemplated building a spec home and moving in, yet a fancy designer home had no appeal in his solitary state. Homes needed families to fill them.
They continued to discuss the subdivision development for the next fifteen minutes, then the older man said, “I’m working to procure the tract of land you and Jesse want for Peeps, but my surveyor says the adjoining acreage is an even better deal.”
Rory straightened. “Bigger?” The size of the lot they’d purchased meant scaling down their expansion plans. More land would resolve the issue.
“Yep. About twice the size. I’ll send directions so you and Jess can see for yourselves.” He swirled a finger in the air, a signal to move on. Rory nodded. Busy schedule aside, he wanted to broach the subject of remodeling Vi’s house.
“If it’s okay with you, I want to push the nuts and bolts of Peeps’ expansion to next week.” Rory held his breath. Dad preferred set talking points.
The older man eyed him while sipping his coffee. “What’s on your mind, son?”
Here it came. Rory loved and respected his father and wanted to keep him in the proverbial loop. Unfortunately, he had a pretty good idea of where Dad stood on the subject. “I’ve been asked to remodel an old Victorian. It looks and sounds like a project I want.”
His father huffed and set his cup down too hard, splashing large drops on the oak coffee table. Rory snatched tissues out of the holder and wiped up the mess. Dad’s opinion had made itself clear before he’d ever spoken a word.
“I’ve always steered clear of remodels—not enough money in old construction. Nasty problems lurk behind existing structures. Hard to estimate costs. Messy work. Owners get sentimental over junk when it’s better torn down.”
Yep. At least he’d gotten the short version. Rory couldn’t explain how the old house beckoned him. Whenever he thought about it, something deep inside wiggled akin to a baby tooth. Part ache. Part joy and wonder. He’d already said yes on his end. Still waiting on Vi’s yea or nay. He placed his mug on the coffee table.
“Is there a woman involved?” Dad’s stern countenance reminded him of the countless times he’d gotten into trouble as a boy. He’d hoped the subject wouldn’t come up. Dad knew him too well.
He hedged, “The homeowner is a woman.” The woman he couldn’t quit daydreaming about. Even if her feelings didn’t match his.
Dad pushed out his lips and nodded, but he only said, “Be careful, son. A young contractor is only one bad deal away from losing his shirt and his reputation.”
Advice Rory had heard before. “I know, Dad. I got this.” Even as the words hopped out of his mouth, he hoped he could follow through. What if Vi didn’t have the funds for a major remodel? He’d gotten carried away with the prospect of restoring the home and forgotten the contractor’s golden rule—if the job wasn’t cost-effective, it wasn’t worth the risk.
The project hadn’t left the starting gate, and he’d already goofed. Get your head in the game, Spence.
Dad’s shrewd look shut down his musings. “Talked to your brother lately?”
Another worn-out topic. Rory grabbed for his ebbing patience. Dad always asked about Mark, as if Rory and his brother were still in high school. “Nope. Not since the last time you asked.” His brother embraced his anti-social nature to the max. Apparently, he included family in his wide sweep of everything he couldn’t bother with. “Want me to swing by the zoo? You know he doesn’t return calls.”
“Well, one of us should check on him. Make sure he’s alive and well.” Dad ran a hand over his face. The crow’s feet deepened around his eyes.
“It’s Mark’s choice not to communicate, Dad.” Rory kept his voice even.
The older man went on as if he hadn’t heard the last remark. “We need to reach out. Your mom’s death took a toll on him.”
